


The Hotbox

by DangerFloof



Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [6]
Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Adulting, Angst, Complete, Drug Dealing, Explicit Language, F/M, Growing Up, Growing Up is Hard, High School, Illegal Activities, People Change People, Personal Growth, Psychological Trauma, Recreational Drug Use, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teenage Drama, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers, Trauma, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-05-31 18:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerFloof/pseuds/DangerFloof
Summary: Is something *wrong*? Other than the fact that she’s burning the candle at both ends trying to keep her grades up and earn money, is hiding more than half her life from her family (including a boyfriend who refuses to publicly acknowledge her), and still has nightmares about being dragged off and raped in the alley just a few yards from her own bedroom? Nope, everything’s fan-f*****g-tastic, Tina.Updated every Sunday.  This is a four-part story with author's notes at the end.





	1. ONE

“Stop fucking nagging me!”

“You watch your mouth, Miss Missy!”

“ _You_ watch _your_ mouth, Nagatha Christy!”

Bob thumps his fist on the table, making their morning eggs wobble and orange juice slosh. “ _Both_ of you watch your mouths!”

“Bob--!”

“Dad--!”

“Linda--!”

“Doctor Scott!” Gene, understudy for Riff Raff at the community college’s weekly showing of _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , never passes up an opportunity to quote the movie.

“I’m outta here.” Louise stands abruptly, knocking her chair over. She grabs her backpack off the floor and flings the strap over her shoulder.

“Not before you apologize to your mother.”

Louise swings to face Linda, nostrils flared with rage. “I’m _sorry_ I forgot to take the towels out of the washer, _mother_! I _guess_ I was busy prepping for finals _and_ working at the shithole you call a restaurant _and_ trying to have a sadass excuse of a social life! _Ex-cu-u-u-use_ me!”

Her parents shout over each other at her back, but Louise isn’t paying attention as she thunders down the stairs and slams the apartment door behind her. She barrels down the sidewalk, unaware of pedestrians giving the almost six-foot tall girl furiously sputtering and waving her hands a wide berth.

So she washed the towels and forgot to throw them in the dryer—big whoop! They had linens for this morning’s round of showers, and since she’s practically on house arrest, Louise will have plenty of time to re-wash, dry, fold, and put away the load this evening. There was no reason for her mother to spoil her breakfast by being a total boob-punch about it.

God, what the _fuck_ is wrong with people lately? It’s like everyone’s ganging up on her, competing to see who can smash her buttons the hardest. Then they have the nerve to get pissy when she responds with anger, as any reasonable person would do! Hell, she almost beat Gene to death with the remote yesterday; the only thing that saved him was the suspicion that he was right. Sort of.

_“Geez, just go get laid and get it out of your system,” he grumbled, rubbing his sore wrist._

_Louise, victoriously holding the TV remote over her head like a trophy, not feeling even slightly sorry for using one of the locks Ice Pick taught her to get it, ground her teeth at her brother. “What?”_

_“Ever since Zeke left you’ve been on a rampage. Hop on a dick and get over it.”_

_Louise’s jaw literally dropped, both in shock that Gene would say such a thing, and an uncomfortable burst of self-awareness. She hated to admit it, but yes, she’s totally the kind of girl who gets irritable without regular sex, now that she knows what she’s missing. Not that a roll would fix the issues, but she'd certainly feel better if she weren't a solo player at the moment. Gene took the opening to beat a retreat to his room._

“But of course, Zeke’s part of the fucking problem,” Louise mutters to herself, wiping a fine veil of sweat off her brow as she waits at the light. _Who needs cardio when you’re surrounded by assholes?_

Pounding footsteps, two people running behind her. Adrenaline floods her system, and Louise spins, fists up, remembering the last time two men approached her in public. But she sees only Andy and Ollie, cheeks flushed, backpacks bouncing, as they jog to catch up to her.

“Good morning, Louise!” Andy cries cheerfully.

Ollie frowns. “Everything okay? You look mad.”

“Furious,” Andy agrees.

Louise lowers her fists, knowing damn well that the adrenaline crash will hit hard, leaving her exhausted and noodle-armed. “Yeah, fine, just had a fight with Mom this morning,” she says with a crooked smile.

The light turns, and the trio cross the street, Louise the filling in a Pesto sandwich. She’s the only person the twins allow to stand between them; even Jimmy Junior has never been afforded the honor.

Ollie reaches into his pocket and takes out a hard candy wrapped in clear, crinkly plastic. “Here, this will help.”

She barks a short laugh; it’s one of the sour lemon candies she sold the twins last week. Only 10mg, nothing heavy. Louise shrugs and takes it, shoving the wrapper in her pocket and popping the disk in her mouth. “Thanks. I need it.”

Ollie nods. “I could tell. It must be bad—“

“ _Real_ bad—“ Andy adds.

“You never get high for school.”

She blinks, surprised that Tweedledee and Tweedledumb have enough brain cells to notice. Louise has classes to attend and business to conduct, and she makes it a personal policy to not do any of it when she’s half-baked.

“Yeah, it’s just—everything’s, like, shit, you know?”

Ollie pats her on the shoulder. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Can you at least get Dad off my ass about the window?” She’s sure she’d feel better if she could hang out on the fire escape and enjoy the cool spring air before summer hits, maybe smoke a joint or two (or ten) while she’s doing it. But _no-o-o_ , her father was serious when he said he’d make her go back to her old room if he catches her sneaking through the window again. As she discovered just last night, he’s obviously watching her closely; all she did was crack the damn thing open to get some damn air while she was studying for her damn chemistry test, and he was knocking on her door within thirty seconds of throwing open the sash. Sure, he _said_ he just wanted to offer her some popcorn, but she saw the way his gaze flickered to the window, propped open with a block of wood. As someone who could come and go pretty much as she wished since she was fourteen, the restriction is galling.

Ollie curls an arm around her waist and gives her a brief side-hug. “Why don’t you join us after school? We were thinking of hanging out by the lake anyway.”

“We were?” Andy asks.

“Yeah.” Ollie gives his brother a significant look. “Just now, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Andy laughs. “I forgot.”

Louise rolls her eyes. “Hanging out by the lake?”

“Yeah,” Ollie offers her a warm smile. “Trust us, you’ll like it.”

She really should go home as soon as possible. She has laundry to redo, homework coming out her ears, and the restaurant, and…fuck it, why not?

* * * * *

Typically, Louise spends her lunch break making sales, hanging out with friends, or, occasionally, doing some last minute cramming for tests. Today, she ducks everyone, instead finding her way to an empty classroom. After checking to make sure she’s alone, she turns off the lights and sits on the floor behind the teacher’s desk, out of sight of casual observation. She pops another candy—a cinnamon disk, just strong enough to take the edge off—and dials Tina.

The sisters have talked several times since they finally made up three weeks ago, albeit not as frequently as before, and never about Zeke, but their relationship is slowly repairing itself. Tina even sent her a fancy eyeshadow palette as a gift for acing her ACTs. Louise, who isn’t as keen on makeup as Tina is, and certainly wouldn’t have spent that kind of money on eyeshadow, still appreciates the cannabis theme of the palette; in fact, she’s currently wearing Sour Diesel smudged around her eyes.

“Hey, you,” Tina says loudly over the voices yammering away in the background on her end.

“Hi. Is it an okay time to talk?”

“Sure—let me—wait—excuse me—“

Tina’s side eventually becomes quieter as she makes her way to a less crowded area. “Sorry, was just getting a late lunch.”

“Oh shit, T, I’m sorry!” _God, what a clusterfuck of a day!_

“Don’t worry, I just cued up, and talking to you will give the crowd time to dissipate.”

Louise rolls her eyes; _cued up_! Ever since Tina told her about her grad school plans—going to Cambridge University for a master’s in creative writing—Tina's been obsessed with all things British. Louise is half-convinced Tina thinks England is more of a Jane Austen/Harry Potter/Shakespearean mash-up than an actual country.

“You know, that red-haired guy’s—I mean, _bloke’s_ —wife had the baby, so if you’re looking to marry a prince…”

“He’s Prince Harry, she’s the Duchess of Sussex, and I’m looking to earn an MFA, not an MRS.” Tina’s voice is cool and crisp.

“Okay, okay, jeez, just tell Dumbledore I said hi, okay?” _Fuck_ , why is everyone so damn defensive lately? If they aren’t kicking her in the metaphorical balls and acting shocked when she retaliates, they’re up in arms about nothing. _Damn_.

“I’ll buy you something nice from Diagon Alley.”

Louise grins, hearing the smile in her sister’s voice. “How about a chocolate frog? A cannabis chocolate frog?” A new idea occurs to her. “Oh my God, wizard edibles must be _insane_!”

“Louise…”

“Hey, you started it.”

Tina sighs; she can’t argue the point, and she knows it. Besides, she’s the one who taught her 13-year-old sister how to smoke in the first place, then advised to find “a friend” for whom she could do sales. 

“So, speaking of how things are going—“

Louise rolls her eyes; her sister’s social skills have improved vastly since they were kids, but her segues are still terrible.

“—How _are_ things going over there? Really?”

Louise’s stomach tightens. “Why? What? They’re fine, Tina. Who told you everything’s shitty?”

“Well, you don’t typically call during the day, and…um, I talked to Mom a couple hours ago.”

“Oh, _that_. A minor squabble.”

“Louise, she was crying.”

“ _Crying?_ ”

“She thinks you hate her.”

Louise’s stomach rolls. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “Oh my God, I don’t _hate_ her, she’s just up my ass. _All. The. Fucking. Time_.”

“Yeah, she can do that,” Tina says absently. “But…Louise, is something wrong? Dish, girl.”

Is something _wrong_? Other than the fact that she’s burning the candle at both ends trying to keep her grades up and earn money, is hiding more than half her life from her family (including a boyfriend who refuses to publicly acknowledge her), and still has nightmares about being dragged off and raped in the alley just a few yards from her own bedroom? _Nope, everything’s fan-fucking-tastic, Tina._

“Tina, Mom and I fight on the reg, we always have, you know that. Don’t read too much into it.”

The phone is silent for a moment, and Louise can sense her sister weighing her words carefully; Louise is notoriously touchy, and their relationship is still not strong enough to bear the weight of much conflict.

“Maybe…you could try to…give her a break? You’re the youngest—“

Louise flaps her hand. “And I’m growing up _so fast_ and I’m her baby and yadda-yadda-yadda.”

“I know she doesn’t express it in the best way, but she’s worried about you.” Tina sighs. “We all are,” she adds quietly.

“What? I’m _fine_.”

“No, you _aren’t_.” Tina doesn’t raise her voice, but says it with such finality Louise knows any protests to the contrary are useless. “You’ve been extra-moody for a long while, especially since spring break, haven’t you?”

_Shit!_ Now she has to think of a good lie, or…wait! Maybe she can get advice for part of the problem without revealing everything.

“Whatever,” Louise sighs, picking at a loose thread on her backpack. “It’s just…okay, it’s like this. You know how in the movies with teenage superheroes, they always go on about how difficult to balance both sides of their lives? Like, there’s the teen part, with school and chores and stuff, and then there’s the adult, save-the-world part?”

“Yeah.”

“Now, I’m not saying I’m a superhero, or saving the world,” Louise assures her, though she thinks she’s pretty damn heroic in some ways. “But they always go on about _how hard_ it is to balance, and I’m wondering—I’m wondering why I should have to balance the two sides at all.”

“You want to drop out of school?”

Louise rolls her eyes; how could her sister misinterpret her like that? “No Tina, I just think I shouldn’t have to balance the two sides. I want—I want to just be myself, and I always feel like half a person. I’m _tired_ , T.”

“I thought you like sneaking around?”

“I do,” Louise says. “But not _all the time_. Not because I _have_ to. Look. You know how important money’s always been to me.”

“Mmm.”

“And it’s not just because I want to be rich. I want to be _secure_. I don’t want to live like our parents do, on a shoestring budget, and God forbid anything breaks or goes wrong. I want…I want to graduate college without debt. I want a nest egg. I want the restaurant to offer good food _and_ be profitable for the whole family. And I’m working hard to make it happen, T!”

She stands and begins pacing in the dark room. “Did you know our profits went up almost an average of 15% a month since I took over our online presence? Mom’s teaching me the books, and I already see three ways we can _easily_ cut expenses without cutting quality.”

“And, you know, my side hustle.” Louise keeps her voice low. She’s alone in the room, but that’s no reason to be careless. “I’m not just making money, I’m building connections for the future. And we’ll _all_ benefit, Tina! I can _do_ this, I just need people to stay out of my fucking way.”

“I see,” Tina says.

Louise relaxes slightly. Tina truly does sound like she gets it.

“Well,” Tina clears her throat; as usual, it sounds like she has a whole pond of frogs stuck in there. “I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say.”

“Probably not,” her sister agrees, already on the defensive again. “But go on anyway.”

“First—and I’ve been meaning to say this for a while—you’re looking for scholarships, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“All your work in the restaurant will help, but you need an extra-curricular.”

“Oh my God, T.” Well, _this_ will teach her to go to her sister for help!

“I mean it, they look for stuff like that.”

“Do you think I have time for some dumb little kid’s club? Don’t you _understand_ , I barely have the energy for everything else on my plate! I’m not a joiner like you.”

“I know, just hear me out; you don’t have to do anything time-consuming. Don’t they still have those clubs that meet once or twice a month? Maybe the GSA? Or International Club?”

Louise considers this. “The Gay Straight Alliance? That wouldn’t be too bad, I guess. Yeah. But I’m not doing a bake sale or shit like that!”

“You don’t have to,” Tina says cheerfully. “Just go to all the meetings, participate as much as you’re comfortable, and it will help pad out your applications.”

The more she thinks about it, the more Louise likes the idea. The GSA does serious stuff, and it’s a cause close to her heart, since her father and brother are both bi, and the family has many LGBTQ+ friends. It wouldn’t be like she’s using them to pad out her resume. Well, not much, at least. Surely she can spare the time for a meeting or two a month, and she already has customers in the club—maybe membership will help her increase her sales!

Elation turns to deflation, however, as the thought of sales brings her back to her original problem. “But what do I do in the meantime, Tina? I’m _tired_ of not being myself.”

Tina sighs. “Well, you have three options.”

“Yeah?”

“One: you could cut out all the stuff you have to hide, and just be a normal teen—“

“Not gonna happen.”

“Two: you could stop hiding stuff, and deal with the fall-out—“

Louise shudders, thinking of her mother’s histrionics if she knew about Zeke, how disappointed her father would be if he knew she had anything to do with the Fischoeder Family. “Not ideal. Option three?”

“You’ll be eighteen in just fourteen months, Louise.”

“That’s your advice? Destroy my future, destroy my present, or just grin and bear it for more than a year?” _Fuck, Tina, you’re about as helpful as tits on a bull!  
_

Louise groans; that's one of Zeke's favorite expressions. He used it last week, to describe a particularly useless prep-chef at the restaurant where he works.

“I warned you that you wouldn’t like it. But part of being an adult means making a choice and accepting the consequences—positive and negative. You just have to decide which set you can tolerate the best.”

It’s not helpful advice—quite the opposite, she’s back at square one—but Louise feels a bit better. At least her sister is treating her like an adult, listening to her, taking her concerns seriously, and trusting her to make her own decisions.

“If you decide to go with option three—and honestly, I think it’s the best idea—you’ll need to find a way to keep and eye on the future, and manage the present. Maybe make a game of it?”

“I’ll try,” Louise grumbles.

“So, if you don’t mind, I really need to get lunch now. I have an appointment with Dr. Bridges in an hour. He’s the one who suggested I apply for Cambridge.”

“Well, pip-pip cherrio, sis.”

“Cheers, Louise.”


	2. TWO

The afternoon begins in a slightly fuzzy haze for Louise. At first she focused on behaving _normally_ , concerned that someone would realize she was stoned, but by this point she practically has cannabis imprinted in her DNA; it would take a hell of a lot more than a couple of candies taken several hours apart to make her obviously high. Still, she’s determined this will be an exception to the rule, not the beginning of a trend; Louise isn’t a naturally good student, it takes a lot of work for her to focus and apply herself to academics.

Thankfully, they just have to watch some stupid documentary about the Spanish Armada of 1588 during medieval history class, which gives her plenty of time to space out and turn what Tina said over in her mind.

Ultimately, she decides her sister’s advice isn’t much different from Zeke’s. Rather than take notes, she fills a page in her notebook with frownie faces and daggers. _Stupid Zeke._ Maybe she wouldn’t be in such a foul mood today if they hadn’t argued yesterday. Well, she argued with him; he was unmovable.

_“Honey, if I was in town more often, maybe it would be a good idea. But I ain’t, and tellin’ yer folks about us would just bring an unnecessary shitstorm down on yer head.”_

_Louise, hanging out in the park after school, damn near threw her phone in the pond in frustration. She took a steadying breath. “Let me worry about Mom and Dad. If they know about us—“_

_“They’ll do everything they can to separate us. You think they’re up yer ass now, wait ‘til they got somethin’ concrete to worry about! They’ll move you back into yer old room, and they’ll take away yer phone, and probably put out a restrainin’ order against me, and—“_

_She knew he was right. She’d loose all her everyday pleasures and privileges and get nothing in return; they’d completely ruin her life, just to keep her and Zeke apart. But the fact that he was right didn’t calm her, it made her angrier, and it gave her a new target._

_“Are you afraid your other girlfriends will find out about me?”_

_“What? Honey, you know there ain’t no other—“_

_Warming to the subject, she began pacing, her throat tight, her eyes hot and prickly. “I don’t know what you get up to. I bet you have girlfriends everywhere!”_

_Zeke made the mistake of laughing. “Babygirl, you can’t be serious—“_

_“You think this is fucking funny?!?” Her voice cracked. “Stringing me along! Using me! Making me think you…making me…well, fuck you too!”_

_“ **Louise!** ”_

_But she hung up on him._

Sitting in the dark classroom, watching English vessels sail circles around the ponderous Spanish galleons, Louise sniffles and wipes her nose on the back of her hand. She’s not _crying_ , of course, she assures herself as she readjusts her nose stud. Not over some stupid boy. Guy. Man. Whatever.

She knows he loves her, but…that doesn’t mean he loves her _exclusively_ , now does it? What if he has a girlfriend or two up north? God, what if he has one here, in Seymore’s Bay? It’s unlikely, but not impossible. It would explain why he doesn’t want to go public. Maybe she's his back-up plan, or one of many side chicks? Or—or, what if he’s _not_ stringing her along? What if he’s polyamorous? It would explain why he’s so careful to tell her to “enjoy” school, why he encourages her, without telling her in so many words, to go screw around with other guys, to not hold back on his account. It gives him an out, so he can fuck around with other girls with a clean conscious.

If that’s the case…well, it doesn’t work for her at all. Nothing against polly people, but she’s not one of them. When Louise Belcher gives her heart, she gives it thoroughly and completely to one person, and she expects him to do the same. She feels sick enough at the idea of him sleeping around just to get laid; as unfeminist as it is, she comforts herself by thinking of those other girls as little more than living fleshlights, masturbatory aids he uses to get by until he can see her. But…but what if Zeke has genuine feelings for them? What if he calls them sweet little endearments, cuddles them, returns their loving gazes with his own…?

Louise jumps to her feet, half-trips over her bag, and just barely makes it to the trashcan before she begins retching.

* * * * *

Louise, released from school three hours early, takes the round-about way home, hoping she can avoid her parents and just retreat to her room. Gene lives for attention when he’s sick, but Louise is like a wounded animal; she’ll hide it as long as she can, then retreat to her cave until she’s well. She approaches their building from the right, so she doesn’t have to walk pass the restaurant window, opens the door as quietly as she can, and locks it almost noiselessly. She tip-toes up the stairs.

Linda, watching TV while curled under a particularly ugly and sloppy throw she crocheted for a class at the community center, looks up at her wan-looking daughter.

“Louise honey, the school called and told us all about it.” She stands and approaches her daughter. “Let Mommy feel your forehead.”

“It’s just something I ate,” Louise says, backing away to her room. “I don’t have a fever, Mom, the nurse checked. Just let me go lie down.”

“Okay.” Linda’s voice is soft and gentle. “You rest up tonight. Don’t worry, we’ll cover your shift.”

Louise wasn’t worried about her shift, but she appreciates her mother’s reassurance. Her loud, insensitive mother, who has apparently decided to put aside any resentment from their argument this morning. The argument that, to be honest, was at _least_ as much her fault as it was her mother’s, and made her mother cry. _Damn it_ , how does Linda manage to guilt her without saying a word?

“Want me to make you some tea and toast?”

“Nah, I’m—actually, yeah, that’d be nice.” Louise rubs her stomach, uncomfortably aware that she’s eaten nothing today except a few bites of egg and two candy edibles, and she hurled those in the trash.

Linda looks relieved, which doesn’t surprise Louise; a mother hen at heart, Linda Belcher isn’t happy unless she’s clucking over one of her chicks.

Louise changes into an old pair of leggings and a stained t-shirt and curls up in bed with her phone. It’s funny: as angry as she is with Zeke, there’s still a little part of her that lifts at the thought that he might have sent her an apologetic feeler, some attempt to communicate with her. She bites her trembling lower lip; no messages, no texts, nothing for her on Facebook or Instagram. The stubborn silence hurts more than the fight did.

As if to punish herself, she flips through her Insta page. A few pictures of Zeke—mostly him with friends, or by himself, very few with just the two of them together. Many of Louise, making faces at the camera with Rudy and Jessica or the Pesto twins. Photo after photo of Louise wearing the gold hoops he gave her for Christmas.

_My Zeke. Yeah, right._

She should have known he doesn’t love her—or, at least, doesn’t love her with the exclusive, all-encompassing devotion Louise requires. Surely if he did, he would have said something by now, right? Everyone knows that she struggles with expressing her feelings, but Zeke is notoriously sensitive, emotionally intelligent, embarrassingly honest and open about every feeling that flits across his emotional landscape. He always has been; he’s the one who ugly-cried in Jimmy Jr.’s arms at the thought of being separated from his best friend during the school week. So, if he _truly_ loves her, why is he staying quiet now?

A knock on her bedroom door makes Louise jump and drop her phone. She runs a hand over her eyes. “Come on in.”

Her mother enters with the bed tray. Two slices of multi-grain toast spread thinly with butter, a cup of tea, and a little bowl of applesauce sprinkled with ginger…it’s carb city, and just the sight makes her stomach howl.

Linda smiles as she settles the tray over her daughter’s lap. “You must be feeling a bit better.”

Louise nods and digs in, reminding herself to take small bites. Her mother sits down on the bed.

“Louise honey, is everything okay? You’ve been on edge for weeks now.”

It’s all Louise can do to not roll her eyes. _Fuck_ , can’t she eat in peace? “I’m _fine_ , Mom. And I’m sorry about this morning. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Apology accepted, but yes, you _do_ know what came over you.”

Linda isn’t yelling, but her words are like a slap. Louise blinks at her.

“You’ve been tense and moody, and you’re taking whatever’s wrong out on everyone around you. Do you want to talk about it? What can I do to help?”

_You could leave me the fuck alone_. She puts down the half-eaten toast and thinks for a moment.

“I’m just…burned out, Mom. And tired.” A sudden burst of insight reveals exactly what she wants; will her parents go for it? “There _is_ something you can do for me.”

“What is it? Let Mommy and Daddy help.”

“Let me take a couple of mental health days.”

“Louise…”

“It’s not a ruse to get out of school or work! I’ll email my teachers for all my homework, and Andy and Ollie can bring me my books and worksheets and stuff. And as for the restaurant, come on, haven’t I earned a mini vacation? I’ll still handle the social media, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Her mother chews her lip. “I don’t know, Louise. How much time are you thinking?”

“Today’s Wednesday. Just let me have Thursday through Sunday, and I’ll be back to normal on Monday. I promise. I really _need_ this, Mom.”

It’s not hard to add a pathetic, pleading note to her voice. Emotionally wrung out, psychologically depleted, Louise is convinced that a few mental health days are just what she needs, and exactly what she won’t get.

Linda sighs. “I’ll talk to your father. No promises,” she adds quickly, seeing the way Louise’s eyes light up. “Are you…are you sure you don’t want to talk to someone? I have two good ears.”

Louise shakes her head. “I just need some me time to recharge. I’ll be better after that.”

* * * * *

Later that evening, having downed a bowl of chicken noodle soup— _Protein at last, thank God_ —Louise texts the Pesto twins. They have only one phone between them, which makes sense, as they’re rarely more than a few yards apart anyway.

**Louise:** Sorry I had to bail on you. :-(

**A &O:** We undrstand. Rudy said u got sick n history classs

**Louise:** I puked a hammer. Feeling a bit better now.

That’s almost the truth. Her stomach is much calmer, but otherwise she feels totally exhausted.

**A &O:** YEET

**Louise:** MMM, rents are letting me take a couple of mental health days. Wanna get together Thursday or Friday? And could you bring my homework?

A slightly longer pause.

**A &O:** O here. We cn do that. how about tomorrow? Meat at r van @ 4.

**Louise:** k

Louise sleeps heavily but awakens exhausted the next morning, her dreams being a confusing jumble of hazel eyes, thick clouds of Jack Herer, and grabbing, bruising hands.


	3. THREE

Louise is as good as her word, determined to prove she’s not milking the system. After her mother calls the school, Louise e-mails each of her teachers, asking for her assignments. Then she sends texts to Rudy and Jessica and invites them over Saturday for lunch so she can copy their notes. After that, she updates the restaurant’s social media with a picture of the day’s special (The Funky Colby Medina).

By 2:30, Louise has finished the bulk of her schoolwork for the next two days, which is somewhat irritating; why is she wasting so much time at school when she can complete, like, 75% of the work within five hours? Sure, her teachers all responded quickly, and of course, there’s no makeup work for P.E., but still, _damn_!

She spends the rest of the afternoon watching a _South Park_ marathon, thrilled to rewatch the Scott Tenorman episode, though it makes her think maybe her nine-year-old self was a little soft on Logan. Mostly though, it's just background noise as she cyberstalks Zeke's social media. It's lame and crazy, but she can't help herself; she has to know what he's doing and with whom. Zeke isn't online much; he has a Facebook account, because everyone has one, and he joined Instagram shortly after they hooked up. He "likes" many things she posts, but posts little himself, mostly NSFW memes and pictures of particularly delicious-looking things he makes at school or work. But what if he's blocking her from seeing the dirt? Stories of guys having secret girlfriends--even secret wives and families--fill her head, and she can't stop herself from looking at his friends pages, his school and work social media accounts. Scenario after miserable scenario fills her head, each more elaborate and horrible that the next--is _that_ the other girl he's seeing? Is _that_ one? At just before 4:00, she texts her parents that she’s going to visit the twins (true) to get notes from their one shared class (completely untrue, the Pestos never take notes). Following the boys’ instructions, she meets them down the block, her mood grim.

Ollie, leaning up against the twins’ van, flashes her a bright grin and greets her with a hug. Andy, apparently winner of the twin’s Turn Penny flip, is already strapped in the driver’s seat. He waves vigorously at her from behind the wheel. Louise climbs into the backseat, Ollie hops in beside his brother, and the three drive off towards the highway.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Louise asks without genuine curiosity; anything that gets her away--from her home, from the tired tread of her thoughts, is welcome.

Ollie turns to smile at her, his grey-blue eyes light and sparkling. “You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes and one snaking, gravel road up in the hills later, Andy comes to a stop by the edge of a lake. Trees spread their tender green foliage wide and high, stretching up to the sky. Everyone piles out to admire the view.

“Wow,” Louise breathes, picking up a handful of rocks. “I didn’t know this was here.”

“Nobody does,” Ollie says.

“It’s _probably_ public land,” Andy chimes in.

She takes aim at an invisible spot on the lake and flicks her wrist, sending a beige rock skipping over the surface before it finally sinks. Ripples upon ripples, bouncing off each other, undulating. A bird chirps over their heads.

Andy lifts the cargo door of the minivan, and the three of them sit together facing the lake, Louise between the twins. She leans her head on Ollie’s shoulder. He startles slightly—Louise isn’t one to initiate physical contact, unless it hurts—but curls an arm around her waist and holds her close. Andy rests his cheek on her other shoulder. They sit like that for several minutes in silence, taking in the view.

Ollie leans back slightly, as does Andy, and Louise can sense some sort of unspoken communication taking place behind her, the creepy twin connection that allows them to hold entire conversations with eyebrow flicks.

“Scoot back, we’re closing the door,” Ollie says.

“Why?” She’s scooting with them both. Once their feet are cleared, Andy shuts the door.

Andy giggles. “You’ll see.”

Ollie bends over the passenger seat, making Louise blush; _Damn, when did he build that butt?_ He reemerges with a paper bag. Louise laughs, because she knows what’s in it the second he opens the bag, the smell familiar and pungent.

Andy arranges some old throw pillows in the corner while his brother carefully grinds the bud and packs the pipe. He hands it and a lighter to her. “Ladies first.”

She takes a hit, closing her eyes with contentment as she holds the smoke. Headfunk—she sold some to the boys just a few days ago. The air quickly becomes heavy.

“That’s better,” Ollie sighs contentedly, reclining on the pillows.

“It is,” Louise agrees, curling up at his side. Her heart twists a little; this isn’t the arm she wants around her shoulders. “Wow, it’s dank in here. We’re gonna _reek_.”

“It’s called _hotboxing_ , Louise.” Andy enunciates the word carefully.

“It’ll change the world,” Ollie adds.

She begins snickering. “We haven’t hotboxed together before?”

The twins shake their heads in unison.

Andy passes the pipe back to her. She raises it like a champagne glass. “Here’s to a day of firsts!”

Soon they’re a red-eyed cuddle puddle, Ollie reclined on the pillows, Louise snuggled up against his side, Andy resting his head on her lap. As elevated as she is, Louise still can’t rid herself of a slight tension as Ollie’s hand slides over her upper arm, Andy gently rubs his cheek against her thigh.

“What’s wrong, Louise?” Ollie takes her chin gently in his fingers and angles her face up to his.

“Nothing,” she lies, swatting his hand away.

Again, the twins hold a quick, silent conversation, and simultaneously disentangle themselves from her, staying close, but giving Louise a bit of space. She visibly relaxes.

“It’s okay, Louise,” Andy assures her softly.

“We’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“Well, duh,” she snorts, laughing nervously, trying to will her racing heart to slow down. “I’d kick your asses.”

“Or Zeke would.”

She does a double take.

Andy leans over to his brother. “I think that was supposed to be a secret,” he stage whispers.

“You guys are awfully bad at hiding it,” Ollie tells her, struggling against a laugh.

There’s no denying it. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

“I mean, he looks at you like _this_ ,” Andy says, shooting her the most exaggerated look of love he can manage.

“Yeah,” Ollie manages to say, though he's rapidly loosing the battle against a fit of giggles, “And you look at him like _this_.”

Louise tries to glower at him. She does _not_ press her hands over her heart and stare at Zeke with big doe-eyes! But it’s such a silly situation, and she’s so stoned by this point, that she starts snickering.

“We’re friends with benefits when he’s in town, just friends otherwise,” she eventually manages to say, parroting the old line that has lost all meaning for her. It would be more accurate to say that they’re exclusive when he’s in town, open when he’s not, and she hates it.

“Do you think he’d mind?” Andy asks.

“Mind what?”

“If you went to prom with us, silly.”

Ollie cuts in. “We’d _love_ for you to be our prom date! Just as friends,” he adds quickly, seeing the expression on her face. “We know we’re asking at the last minute—“

“--But you’re scary!”

“But you’re scary,” Ollie agrees with his brother. “We have our tickets. We can get yours and—“

“I already bought one.” She feels the first glimmer of actual interest in the dance. Up until now, she viewed it purely as a work event. She bought the ticket, put out feelers for the best parties, and started quietly reminding her regular customers to buy early, as she’s not sure how much she’ll be able to sneak into the event. Louise hasn’t bothered looking for a date, as the one guy she wants to take is too old. She hasn’t even bought a dress yet, intending to hit the second-hand shops this weekend to hunt down the most humorously terrible formal dress to wear ironically. But if she has a date— _dates_ , plural—that changes her plans.

Ollie pushes on eagerly, his eyes wide with excitement. “We thought maybe we’d double with Jessica and Rudy. We could go to Pie in the Sky and get a limo—our treat, of course!”

“Of course,” Andy echoes.

Well! If the twins are going to treat her to a night on the town, why not? Hell, she’ll even buy a nice dress—it will still be cheaper than what they’ll spend on her. Thoughts of money bring her back to practical considerations.

“I’d like to,” she says slowly, “But I have…sales to do there,” Louise adds, gesturing to the pipe.

Andy blinks, then catches on. “Oh yeah, weed!”

“We can help,” Ollie assures her. “Tuxes have pockets.” He turns to his brother, noting the bemused expression on Andy’s face. “Girl's clothes don’t have pockets.”

Louise pinches the bridge of her nose. “That’s—yeah, women’s _formal wear_ doesn’t have pockets.”

“So you’ll go with us? It’s a week from this Saturday.”

She looks into two sets of bloodshot puppy eyes and can’t refuse. They’re her friends, they’ll be her pockets, it will be fun. Zeke won’t mind—he’s always telling her to go out, have fun, not be held back in any way by him—and if he does mind, well, screw his half-loving ass! It’s not like he spends every Saturday night at home knitting little sweaters for homeless kittens or something.

“Sure,” Louise agrees. She scoots over to Ollie and kisses him on the cheek.

He blinks at her, shocked by the contact, and reaches out to tentatively caress her cheek. She smiles at him somewhat blearily, answering the question in his eyes with a slight nod. Ollie closes the distance between them and kisses her softly on the lips while Andy nuzzles her nape.

* * * * *

Louise returns home relatively sober and with a plan. She rinsed off at the Pesto’s and ran her clothes through their dryer with a fabric sheet so she doesn’t smell like a Grateful Dead concert, though plenty clings to her hair. The effort was wasted, as her parents are still in the restaurant. Louise quickly takes a proper shower, and assembles dinner.

First things first: she has to make up with her parents. They’ve both tiptoed around her for the past two days, and it’s no longer flattering, amusing, or useful. She loves them, even her mother, and genuinely doesn’t want to be on the outs with them, though they don’t get her and totally cramp her style. After all, she’s working hard for their benefit, too; she knows damn well she’ll be her parent’s primary caretaker in their old age, and she can’t do that if she’s poor. Also, if they stay pissed at her, they might try to ground her. Not that a grounding will prevent her from taking care of business and going to prom—she has bigger Fischoeders to fry—but open defiance will escalate the issues at home. Much as she hates to admit it, dissembling and obfuscation is her best option for now, though how she’s going to deal with another fourteen months of it is anyone’s guess.

The first part of her plan goes over well. She wasn’t instructed to cook, so having dinner hot and ready is a nice surprise for her parents.

“ _Ohhhh_ , Rice-A-Roni! Thank you, sweetie,” Linda coos as soon as she catches a whiff of the dish, and gives Louise a crushing hug.

Bob and his daughter share a conspiratorial glance. Bob knows it’s an apology in a pan; Linda loves Rice-A-Roni almost as much as she loves the orange chicken she swears she can’t eat.

“The chicken’s great, Louise,” he says.

She shrugs as if it’s nothing. “Of course it is,” she agrees. She made it the way he likes it best, baked, heavy on the garlic and rosemary, the skin crispy and delicious.

“So Mom, I was wondering if you’re free this Sunday?”

“Sure, I can be. What do you have in mind?”

Louise takes a breath, and braces herself for impact. “I thought you might want to go shopping with me to get a prom dr—“

“Oh my God, my baby’s going to her prom! Who’s your date? Did you get a promposal?”

Louise is glad she’s still a bit elevated; sober Louise would have lost her shit right there. “Yes, I am. The Pestos. No.”

Linda blinks, taking in the information. “The _Pestos_?”

Bob groans and mutters something about “stupid Jimmy Pesto” under his breath.

“Yeah, Andy and Ollie, my friends since grade school. You remember them, right Dad?”

“Well yeah, but…you’re going with _both_ of them? Are you guys, uh, dating?”

“Nobody _dates_ anyone anymore, Dad.” Louise rolls her eyes. “We’re just going as _friends_. Possibly with Rudy and Jessica. We were thinking of all getting a limo together.”

“Oh, I see,” Linda says, somewhat mollified.

Bob, however, is still mulling it over. “Don’t you think that’s going to be…awkward?”

“For people who can’t understand the concept of friendship, sure,” Louise waves her hand dismissively.

“Well, I think it’s nice, going as friends,” Linda nods, acclimating herself to the idea. “You get to go, and have fun with your friends, without any, uh, pressure.”

“Ugh, no,” Louise agrees. They’re surprisingly fun to kiss, she has to admit; Andy’s kisses are cotton candy and sunshine, Ollie’s deliberate and thoughtful, and both are more skilled than she thought they’d be. But beyond that? No. No, thank you.


	4. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mudflap relates a story from her youth. I placed a warning before the conversation, and a brief summary after.

Louise knocks on Critter and Mudflap’s front door Friday afternoon, having arrived early for the dual purpose of Sidecar’s tutoring lesson and Fischoeder business. Honestly, she’d rather pull out her own nails than teach Sidecar long division—Louise, remembering that Zeke told her the lead chef at work is pregnant, made the mistake of looking her up. Ginny is 26, a dainty woman with curves Louise can only dream about. Sure, she’s married, and they look like a happy couple, but…

Mudflap greets her with a hug and holds the door open while Louise maneuvers her bike into their front room for safe keeping.

“What’s up, Mudflap?” The apartment is too quiet; Critter isn’t particularly loud, but there’s always a certain level of ambient noise when Sidecar is around. “Where is everybody?”

“Critter’s at work, Sidecar’ll be a little late. I thought you and me could have us some girl time while the boys are out.”

Louise is immediately suspicious; Mudflap typically just launches into whatever she has to say, she doesn’t creep around it, or ask Louise to come over early to hear it.

“Oh, it ain’t that serious,” Mudflap offers her a half-smile. “Come into the kitchen, I got some stuff fer you to look at.”

The conversation is like any of dozens they’ve had at the old table. Louise hands over Mr. Fischoeder’s money, and Mudflap restocks her supplies. More edibles than usual, in a bigger variety of flavors and types, extra flower and pre-rolls, all ready for the sales Louise anticipates making for prom. Then—to Louise’s horror—Mudflap adds disposable vape pens.

“Seriously? Pussy sticks?”

Mudflap frowns slightly. “That ain’t very feminist of ya.”

“I don’t mean pussy as in _vagina_. Just— _pussy_ , like, weak.”

“Well, I ain’t seen nothin’ weaker than some saggy ol’ nut sack,” Mudflap shrugs. “But we got things to talk about other than your vocabulary.”

“Yeah?”

The older woman shakes her head. “First, business. Yer prom’s a week from this Saturday, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, most of yer sales will be leadin’ up to it and at the afterparty.” She glances at the piles of ones and fives Louise gave her. “You’ve been reminding people to buy early, I see.”

_God, will she get to the fucking point already?_ Louise nods.

“You’ll be approached by our man on the inside, who’ll restock for later. Don’t do too much at the prom, don’t git too ambitious; there’ll be eyes everywhere.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“So, you got your date and dress?”

“Date, yeah; dress, not yet. What’s going on?”

Mudflap pulls a vape pen out from her cleavage and takes a drag. She offers the stick to Louise, who shakes her head. Mudflap shrugs, gets up, and digs a pack of Duchies out from the back of the top shelf of the pantry.

Now _that_ Louise can accept, especially when she sees they’re Tangerine Kush, her favorite. They smoke and vape quietly together, Louise politely finishing only one joint, though, given how tense she’s been lately, she’d love to just inhale the whole damn pack.

“So, who’s the lucky guy yer taking to prom?”

“ _Guys_. I’m going with Andy and Ollie.”

Mudflap thinks for a minute. “Those Pesto twins?”

“Yeah. We’ve been friends forever, and they asked me, and I figured, hey, why not? I’ll have two mules.”

“That…will help,” Mudflap says slowly. “But don’t think that two mules means double the product. You gotta be careful.”

“Oh my God, _I know_.” Were not a touch squanchy, Louise probably would have lost her temper. Why the _fuck_ does everyone insist on explaining the _fucking obvious_ , like she’s some _fucking_ amateur? _Fuck_!

Mudflap works her jaw, and Louise is reminded that she’s not the only woman in the room with a short fuse. “Yeah, and that brings me to the thing I really wanted to talk to you about.”

Louise takes a calming breath. “Mmm?”

“Now, you know I’m sayin’ this with love.” Mudflap fiddles with her vape. “And I’m sayin’ it as a friend, and your mentor…what happened to ya, happened, and being a bitch to everyone around you ain’t gonna undo it.”

Louise stares at Mudflap, silently, gobsmacked. She never, ever—not in a billion, kazillion years— _ever_ thought Mudflap would say something like that! To call her…to dismiss…as if…

“I should just _get over it_ , right?” Louise spits each word, her eyes narrowed.

“ _No_ ,” Mudflap narrows her eyes right back. “I think you should learn how to live with it.”

Had Mudflap argued that Louise should just “get over” her attempted rape, forget it and move on, Louise would likely have stomped out of the room. But something about learning to _live_ with it, to somehow coexist with the fact, doesn’t offend her, though she has no idea how to do it.

“Lemme tell you a story. Many years ago I knew a gal, Sarah Lynn.” Mudflap shifts in her chair. She looks down at her vape. “Went through some rough times at home, got kicked out, spent time on the streets.” She looks up. The older woman’s eyes bore into Louise’s. “You understand, yes?”

“Yeah,” Louise breathes.

**TRIGGER WARNING**

“Anyway, Sarah Lynn was…attacked, the way you were, one night. Three men, two old enough to be her father. In an alley, behind some dumpsters. They held her down. Took turns. Egged each other on.”

Mudflap’s gaze is far away, her eyes focused on a spot over Louise’s shoulder, but Louise knows she’s seeing things hundreds of miles away and two decades old.

“Sarah Lynn was a tough thing, like you, but she weren’t no match for three older men. She fought, and it meant nothing. In the end, she…she…cried. B-begged them not to…to stop and they…they thought it was…they got off on it, Louise,” she finishes softly. “Seventeen year old girl, and they got off on her crying and begging them to stop rapin’ her.”

Mudflap chews her lip. “Afterwards, Sarah Lynn pulled herself together, dragged her sorry ass out of the alley, and stopped the first car she saw to git help. Two guys driving, maybe mid-twenties. They took one look at her, all bleedin’ and tore up, and called her a tweaker, a streetrat, said she wanted it but got in over her head and now wanted to get them guys in trouble. The driver—fuckin’ son-of-a-bitch—looked her up and down…and laughed… said those were lucky guys, gittin’ a pretty piece of ass like her.”

Mudflap swings her gaze to Louise. Louise is too horrified to look away, though God knows she wants to. She’s never seen such raw hurt, such rage in another person’s face.

“You were attacked, but you weren’t _raped_. You got people who fucking _believe_ you, who don’t call you names and laugh at you. You got revenge—you _helped_ get revenge—and you sleep in a bed in your parent’s house. I ain’t sayin’ that makes what happened no big deal, but you got it a hellova lot better than some do, Louise. Don’t ruin it. Don’t let what them motherfuckers did destroy yer life.”

Louise stares up at the ceiling fan. One of the light bulbs is burned out. “But it’s my fault,” she says quietly. It’s a terrible thing to feel, to think, but it’s a relief to finally say aloud the idea that’s worn a rut through her mind for weeks.

“Now, how the hell do you reckon that?” The older woman’s voice, calmer now, is quite kind.

“I wasn’t paying attention and…I’ve been boxing for years, a-a-and my knife, and Ice Pick taught me…I always imagined what I’d do if I…I tripped like fucking _Tina_ , for God’s sake! I shoulda b-been. Able. T-t-t-to…” Her voice sputters out into gasps. Her blood thunders in her ears, and suddenly the kitchen in the run-down apartment seems very far away.

Mudflap grabs her hand and squeezes hard, an anchor in a dizzy, grey world. “ _Louise!_ Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.”

Louise follows the biker’s instructions, focusing on the crushing pressure on her hand. Eventually her heartbeat slows to normal, she returns to the kitchen table.

“You thought, bein’ as tough as you are,” Mudflap says softly, still holding her hand, “you should’ve been able to hold them off. That stuff like that happens to other girls, it couldn’t happen to you.”

Louise nods mutely, not bothering to check the tears sliding down her face.

**SUMMARY:** Mudflap, aka, Sarah Lynn, was raped when she was seventeen. The people she went to for help didn’t believe her. Louise says that she blames herself for her attack, that she should’ve defended herself better.

“Look, you ain’t some dainty little princess, and you’ve been smart, learnin’ to fend for yourself. We’ll keep helpin’ you—the more you know, the less vulnerable you’ll be. But the fact of the matter is that it can happen to anyone, and that night, “anyone” was you.”

“Lemme tell you what I wish someone had told m—Sarah Lynn. It ain’t your fault what happened, but it’s a part of you now. It sucks, and it sure as hell ain’t fair, but there it is; ya can’t change it. They’re responsible for what they did, but you’re responsible for what you do now. You gotta learn a way to live with it, or you’ll make life hell fer yourself and everyone around you.”

They’re quiet for a moment while Louise digests what she’s been told. It makes sense. “Get over it” sounds dismissive and immediately puts her on the defensive, but the idea of learning to live with it is both practical and a challenge, and Louise Belcher doesn’t back down from a challenge. She can’t get over it, but maybe…if she tries hard…she can learn to live with it. She’s not sure what living with it will look like, but she’s determined to try.

“Not bad work, Dr. Mudflap. Thanks.”

The older woman smiles thinly. “I just saved ya hours of navel-gazing horseshit. It ain’t fair, it ain’t right, but it happened, learn to live with it—that’s all it comes down to. Fortunately fer you, you got people who give a crap about you and don’t want ya to push ‘em away. Even though yer doin’ yer damnedest to shove ‘em outta yer life.”

“Zeke,” Louise sighs.

“He and me might of talked,” Mudflap says, unwilling to divulge how long Zeke ranted at her, the way he his last conversation with Louise made him swing between rage and despair.

“Okay, I ain’t getting in the middle of that. But damn it Louise, that boy absolutely adores you and you know it. Don’t punish him fer fallin’ head over heels.”

“I’m not—“ But maybe she is, in a way. Louise knows now that she’s been in a state of perpetual rage ever since the attack, and she’s been lashing out at everyone around her. She’s been cruel and unfair, especially those who love her best. After all, much as she wants Zeke all to herself, she knows as well as he does that it just can’t work that way right now. Demanding otherwise was foolish and just begging for a fight.

“Then why hasn’t he told me how he feels?”

“Girl, men are shit at talkin’ about their feelings—yeah, even Zeke. I seen him, I know how he feels, and you know it too. If he ain’t saying anything, it’s for a good reason. Ask him about it.”

“I can’t go all soft and girly and talk to him about feelings!”

Mudflap smiles. “I ain’t good with genuine feelings of emotion either. But ya can’t blame him fer not being willin’ to talk if you ain’t.”

Louise stays long enough to tutor Sidecar, though she leaves before dinner. Mudflap hopes their talk makes a real impact; she’s pretty sure it will. She likes to think Louise is what she, Mudflap, would have been like, had all the problems not happened, and both of them respond well to direct, cut-to-the-chase, no bullshit conversation. Besides, she can’t risk Louise’s parents sending her to therapy, like Linda mentioned doing when Mudflap saw her at Fresh Feed yesterday. Surely Louise knows better than to reveal Fischoeder business, but they simply can’t take that risk.

* * * * *

Later that evening, as her parents are preparing to close the restaurant, Louise orders in Mexican for the family (her treat, another apology), and closes herself off in her room to face the music with Zeke.

Louise hates everything about apologies. She hates the humility, the vulnerability, the admission that she was wrong. _But everyone has to make them, and I guess learning to do it now is better than being like Logan_ , she reminds herself.

As she did after her big fight with Tina, she calls Zeke, rather than uses Facetime or Skype—this is going to be hard enough, she’s not sure she can do it and look at him at the same time. Zeke answers just before the call goes to voicemail.

“Yeah, just…one sec…lemme—“

Louise can hear the television in the background, something with explosions and car chases. The sound cuts out abruptly. “Lou—“

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, before he can get started. “I was an asshole. I’ve been a mess about the—you know, the attack—and I took it out on you and I’m sorry.”

“Baby, I know. I get it, an’ if ya want me to—my offer still stands.”

“Nah, it’s taken care of, and I just gotta learn to live with it. I’m so sorry I was a bitch to you.”

“I accept yer apology,” he says quietly, but the formality in his word choice and tone freezes her heart. “But it ain’t _okay_ , ya know?”

“Oh.” Torn between loosing her temper and crying, she clenches her fist.

“Look honey, I…I care about you _so much_. Yer the only girl in my life, and I don’t want no one else. But we _can’t_ be together like that right now. It kills me, but it’s the truth, an’ I’m tired of arguin’ about it with ya. Why cancha drop it?”

“I know we can’t, I’m just…I’m just frustrated with not being eighteen yet. I mean, I’m tired of being treated like a kid when I work harder than most adults. And I’m doing it for my parents as much as for me! Who’s gonna be the one who stays in town and pays for their cataract surgeries? Not Tina or Gene. The _least_ Mom and Dad can do is stay out of my way and let me do what I need to do.” Louise beats her fist softly against her thigh.

“Also, I…” She closes her eyes, takes a steadying breath. Louise can’t bring herself to say exactly what’s in her heart, but she’ll explode if she doesn’t say _something_. “I c-care about you too, Zeke. I want us to be…you know…” her voice trails off.

“No, I don’t. Whatdya want us to be, babygirl?” His tone is soft, caressing.

“You know…”

“Uh-uh. I ain’t a mind reader, honey.”

_God, what an ass!_ He knows damn well what she wants; she half-smiles, knowing she’d do the same thing if she were in his shoes. Louise takes a breath and whispers into the phone. “ _Exclusive_. I-I-I want to be exclusive. Just you and me. All the time. For real.”

“Damn,” he breathes. “Oh Louise baby, I— _damn_!”

“Is that good or bad?” She knows the answer, she can hear the joy in his voice, it’s making her shake with relief, but she needs to hear him say it. She’s earned that much.

“It’s—it’s fuckin’ _amazing_! You’d like that? Really? I mean, I’ve talked up a storm about it, but you’ve never--”

To her embarrassment, her eyes are watery, and her throat is slightly constricted. “Yes!”

“Me too! Louise, I—I’ve wanted that fer a long time. I already got our first real date all planned out, ya know.”

“Tell me!”

“I ain’t givin’ it away. You’ll see.”

Louise grins at the phone; this is the Zeke she knows and—and l-l-loves.

“But we got about fourteen months to go before that, baby.”

“I know.”

“And we both got some stuff to do until then. I got school, and you got—“

“School,” Louise sighs.

“Also, honey, you got some growin’ up to do.”

Louise is immediately up in arms; nothing grinds her gears like being accused of immaturity. “ _Growing up_? I work two jobs! And—“

“And yer an honor student, and you came outta yer momma more grown up than the grown ups around you. I know, but that ain’t what I mean.”

_He adores me, Mudflap says so. I know it’s true, I’ve seen the love in his eyes._ Slowly, Louise unclenches her fist. “Then what _do_ you mean?”

“Look, this ain’t gonna be what ya wanna hear, but I ain’t doin’ ya no favors by keepin’ it to myself. Babygirl, ya ain’t even seventeen yet, an’ sometimes it shows. Ya _gotta_ stop pushin’ me away an’ throwin’ tantrums, Louise. I’m serious. You really pissed me off, tellin’ me to fuck off like ya did. I know you’re havin’ a hell of a time right now, an’ I’m tryin’ to be understandin’, but damn it, I’m on your side, and…don’t make me choose between you an’ havin’ my self-respect, baby. You can’t talk to me like that again. I mean it.”

“I’m really, really sorry. I—sorry.” Louise hasn’t felt this small and shitty since she was nine and accidentally glued her father to the toilet the day of his big interview.

“I know, honey, an’ I accept. I ain’t sayin’ all this to make you feel bad, I just want ya to understand. It…it really _hurts_ when ya say things like ya did a few days ago, that I’m hidin’ shit and usin’ you. People who—who care about you like yer fire, but ya gotta stop burnin’ us all the damn time. Just an occasional singe is enough to remind us yer a badass, darlin’. Bein’ an adult ain’t just makin’ money and shit, it’s about how ya treat people, the choices ya make, an’ right now, yer choices ain’t too good.”

He’s right; this _isn’t_ what she wants to hear. She knew she crossed a line with him, but, until now, she didn’t realize how badly she’d bruised his dignity. Still, he’s talking to her as one adult to another, giving her a chance to prove how sorry she is, so she tries to keep her mind open and her voice calm. Louise bites back the acidic words she wants to spit out. “What else?”

“Well,” Zeke says, relief in his voice, “Also, Louise, trust me when I say that I wanna keep ya all to myself more’n anything else in the world, but I know I can’t. I mean, ya can’t grow up right if ya don’t experience yer, uh..”

“Childhood?”

“Look, I _went_ to high school, but I didn’t _do_ high school. Ask T-Bird, I was trippin’ balls most of the time, constantly fightin’. I was _there_ , but not, er, _present_. I don’t want that fer you. I want ya to have a normal high school experience.”

“I know, I know, you don’t want to hold me back in any way, I get it.” He’s said it so often on so many occasions she can’t help but roll her eyes. _Like I’d let anyone stop me from doing what I want to do!_

“I don’t like it at all, but it’s really fer you, baby. Fer us. Experencin’ stuff—not just goin’ through the motions—will be good fer ya, help ya grow up faster. It won’t hurt nuttin’ in the long run, if we’re meant to be.”

_If you love someone, set them free_. _If they come back, they’re your’s. If they don’t, it wasn’t meant to be._ She used to think that was dumb; if you love something, hold onto it and protect it, duh! Now, for the first time, Louise appreciates how painful and courageous it is to let go of someone you love and just hope they come back to you. She understands that their separation, her “experencin’ stuff” genuinely hurts him, what it takes for him to encourage her to do it. Louise’s heart swells with love for the amazing man who prioritizes what he thinks she needs over his own feelings, who isn’t afraid to confront her on her shitty behavior, who won’t sacrifice his self-respect on the alter of her temper. Louise always thought he was damn lucky to have her—she still does—but it occurs to her that she’s damn lucky to have Zeke, too.

“So, you forgive me?”

“Yeah, I forgive ya, ya lil’ brat. Proud of ya, actually.”

“Huh?”

“I know I pissed ya off plenty just now, an’ ya kept yer temper and _listened_ to me. _Talked_ to me. Yer gittin’ there. Yer growin’ inta a fine woman, Louise Belcher.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know,” she says, her voice as sweet and caressing as a kiss. 


	5. Author's Notes

Hi Everyone,

Originally, I wanted Louise to hotbox with the Pesto twins in Seedlings, but it just didn’t make sense there. I figured, hey, why not do a quick, fluffy interlude? Yeah. So, here we are, four chapters and over 10,000 words later, and dang, it went _dark_ , didn’t it? Still, I’m glad it worked out the way it did. I don’t want to give Louise full-on PTSD, but I don’t believe for a minute someone can experience what she did and just go on as usual.

When writing Louise’s arc, I keep thinking of former child stars that went publicly and spectacularly off the rails when they hit their late teens or early twenties. Specifically, I’m thinking of Drew Barrymore and Lindsay Lohan. Too few boundaries, too many grown-up responsibilities and freedoms, and too little guidance from competent adults could have killed both women, and I don’t think Louise’s situation is entirely dissimilar. All things considered, I think she was due for a bit of a breakdown. That said, I’m trying hard to avoid the “rape as growth” trope we see trotted out in both amateur and professional entertainment. I find it particularly repugnant when it’s a female who was “weak,” all sweetness and flowers, until she was assaulted, at which point she transforms into her “true,” hardass self. Instead, the assault forces Louise to face the storm of other issues she’s dealing with. If anything, it might make leveling up even harder for her.

Good thing she has Mudflap to lean on. Though she might seem like the world’s worst mentor on the surface, I really think “Sarah Lynn” Mudflap is an excellent influence on Louise, all things considered. Fans of _BoJack Horseman_ will recognize Sarah Lynn as the name of the messed-up former child star voiced by Kristen Schaal, an obvious amalgam of all the young female performers who flamed out once they hit adulthood. I thought the name was apt.

The concept of learning to live with trauma, rather than “get over” it, isn’t a new one, but it’s an idea I find helpful. The value of it hit home with me a few years ago at a Comic Con of all places. I had the good fortune of attending a panel staring James O’Barr, author and illustrator of _The Crow_. A member of the audience asked him how he learned to “get over” the death of his fiancée. (Spoiler alert; that’s why he created _The Crow_ —it was art therapy). O’Barr said he didn’t get over it, he learned to live with it. Something about the exchange really stuck with me.

On a more cheerful note, I love the idea of sending Tina to England to find her very own Scottjon Dansteve! I think the plot could be a lot of fun, and I’ve already started planning some stuff for her.

Once again, thanks for reading. The next story should be out within a month, and it’s definitely happier.

Cheers,

DangerFloof


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